


Don't Forget To Breathe

by vipjuly



Series: Undisclosed Pleasures [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Choking, Goth Castiel, Hand Jobs, M/M, Power Bottom Castiel, Rimming, Shower Sex, Tattooed Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14134977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Castiel moves into Dean’s orbit and kisses galaxies into his mouth, stars exploding into existence behind Dean’s closed eyelids. Castiel’s hands are hot suns and his mouth is a black hole, Dean’s sanity slowly slipping away from him in ways that only Castiel can manage.





	Don't Forget To Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> "Don't Forget To Breathe" - Bitter:Sweet  
> lotsa blasphemy and metaphorical descriptions ahead  
> have you been listening to the suggested songs on repeat while reading? i feel as though you get the most... bang for your buck, if you do that  
> castiel's [back tattoos](https://78.media.tumblr.com/7f52175a0be49ae6fff6543bcc236ace/tumblr_inline_pb62zbS7SM1r2mo2y_540.png)

Showering has never been anything extraordinary for Dean, much like mornings in general. He’s an in-and-out sort of guy, lather rinse repeat and then get out and towel off, and then carry on with his day. His own bathroom has a walk-in shower, the kind with enclosing glass doors and skylights in the ceiling. It has a double vanity and plenty of storage, even if Dean doesn’t necessarily fill all of the spaces. There’s only so much backstock he’ll allow himself to have of shampoo, conditioner, and skincare. Showers help wake him up alongside coffee in the morning, and at the end of a long, dirty day, they carry away the grime that collects inevitably with the kind of work he does. Showers just aren’t that holy to him.

But this is the church of Castiel, and Dean knows that much like his opinion of mornings, his opinion on showering is about to change… drastically.

Castiel’s bathroom is prim and neat. It hasn’t been goth’d out like the rest of his home - in here the colors are muted charcoals and prussian blues, a lot like the storm visible in Castiel’s eyes whenever he looks up from his lashes. He has a bath/shower combo, the white bumblebee curtains standing in stark contrast against the rest of the calm colors of the room. There’s a bird bath sink and lots of shelving above the toilet and next to the vanity-lit mirror, the space small, but utilized without feeling cramped. 

The rattle of the shower curtain being pulled along the rod grabs Dean’s attention and he watches Castiel brace his hand against the back wall of the shower so he can turn the tap with his free hand, sinewy lines of his shoulders, back, and legs on display. 

“How do you like it?”

Dean snaps out of his little trance, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. “However hot you like. Can’t stand cold showers.”

“Good,” Castiel says, pulling up the spout on the faucet to get the water to spray from the showerhead. He sends a grave look over his shoulder, “We’d have to break up otherwise.”

Dean rolls his eyes a little, stepping forward to start kissing over Castiel’s inked shoulder blades. He pulls back just enough to look at the mangled wings, some of the feathers charred, others ripped clean from the bone. His fingertips trace the ink all the way down to the wine glass dimples on the small of Castiel’s back, and then decides to ask.

“What do they all mean?”

Castiel hums low and long, putting his hand under the stream of water to test the temperature. The water droplets snake down his arm to his elbow, dripping onto the black mat on the floor. He doesn’t answer Dean as he steps into the shower, arching a brow at other man - who follows after, grabbing the edge of the bumblebee curtain and pulling it closed with a little chuckle. The bees are out of place, but very cute. He likes them. 

“When you asked me if I am an angel, I replied ‘not quite’,” Castiel starts. He’s closest to the spray and he tips his head back under it, wetting his messy hair and darkening it to almost black as he runs his fingers through it. 

Dean hums in acknowledgment, not really sure what to say. Normally he could blab for hours, but something about being in Castiel’s presence makes him really want to pick and choose his words. Make sure each one means something. 

“I was named after an angel. Castiel, the Angel of Thursday,” Castiel explains, stepping out of the spray. He slides up against Dean as they shuffle to switch spots, already so attuned to each other that no one manages to step on the other’s toes. Once Dean is under the spray and wetting his hair, Castiel continues as he dispenses some shampoo into his palm, sandalwood and citrus filling the air as he starts to lather his hair. “I grew up under the pretense that I must act as though I am always in the presence of the Lord. There were many expectations for me. As a reincarnation of Castiel, my parents wanted a good boy.”

Dean takes the shampoo bottle when Castiel holds it out towards him, staying silent to hear the man continue. 

“Of course, high school happened. I went to private schools my whole life, but that didn’t stop me from meeting people on the outside. Suddenly I wondered if being an angel reincarnate was all there was for me.” Castiel’s voice as he speaks is smooth, low, but the way he picks through his words makes Dean think that Castiel has never actually spoke of this before. “When I was eighteen, I decided to Fall from Heaven.”

Dean rinses his hair and then grabs Castiel’s hips to help shuffle them around again, his hands reaching up to help Castiel tilts his head back, Dean’s fingers doing most of the work in rinsing the shampoo from his long, dark locks. 

“The wings on my back represent Castiel the Fallen Angel. Not Castiel the Angel of Thursday. They represent everything I have broken free of. They are my… free will,” Castiel says thoughtfully. His eyes are closed, but his expression is clear. Dean grabs the conditioner and the same scent intensifies, his fingers working the cream through Castiel’s hair worshipfully. “I designed and drew them myself. Finding an artist to do the work was… trifling, but I finally found one. He does all of my work.”

Dean lets the conditioner sit in Castiel’s hair and he slicks up his own blond locks, before rinsing his hands clean and running his fingers along the inky black tendrils spindling over Castiel’s body, connecting runes, sigils, and foreign language - which Castiel hasn’t explained. Maybe later. “That’s really deep.” He finally says. Kind of a lame response, but Dean isn’t exactly sure how to reply to something like that. 

Castiel’s smile is small, but his eyes are hurricanes when he grabs one of Dean’s hands and presses his palm over his chest, right where his heart is. “It’s only as deep as you make it, Dean.”

Dean manages to quirk a small smile, “I dunno, Cas. You bein’ a fallen angel and all… can’t get much deeper than that.”

Castiel huffs a laugh, tilting his head back to expose the column of his throat. Tendrils of black reach tantalizingly close to his sharp jawline but stop just shy of the edge, allowing Castiel’s five o’clock shadow to take over the caress. Dean’s fingers automatically slide up to follow the lines, slow, reverent touch, and Castiel licks his lips as he reaches up to wrap his fingers around Dean’s wrist. He guides the angle, causes Dean’s fingers to spread until he’s got Castiel’s throat in a loose hold, Castiel pressing meaningfully on Dean’s palm. 

“Please, Dean. Blaspheme with me.”

There’s no room for incredulous laughter when a small moan leaves Dean’s lips. His fingers squeeze experimentally on Castiel’s throat and the inked man lets his lashes flutter, lets his lips part, his pupils expanding with want. Dean detours his hand so he can tip Castiel’s head back into the spray again to rinse off the conditioner, not wanting to skip over the necessary parts of the shower just so he can get his rocks off. A pretty mature decision in the moment, but Castiel understands as they once again switch places, Castiel’s fingers sliding purposely over Dean’s waist as the slightly taller man rinses his hair clean. 

Once all of the perfunctory chores are out of the way Castiel moves into Dean’s orbit and kisses galaxies into his mouth, stars exploding into existence behind Dean’s closed eyelids. Castiel’s hands are hot suns and his mouth is a black hole, Dean’s sanity slowly slipping away from him in ways that only Castiel can manage. Dean’s hands slide around Castiel’s slick body to grip his ass, cupping the flesh, enjoying the swell of it and lifting it to let it drop, feeling the flesh ripple. Castiel huffs out an aroused chuckle against Dean’s lips and maneuvers them so his back is against the wall and Dean is in front of him, Castiel lifting a leg to hitch up over Dean’s hip.

“We’re probably too old for such an ambitious position,” Castiel breathes, grabbing Dean’s hand to bring it to his lips, kissing each of his wet fingers individually. Dean’s eyes zero in on the contact, hardly listening to a thing Castiel is saying. “But we can work around it.”

Dean merely hums in reply, his free hand grasping the outside of Castiel’s slippery, thick thigh, keeping it in place against his hip. Castiel is flexible, back arching, and Dean has the brief thought that Castiel is probably the type to do yoga. Which Dean is totally on board for. The heady scent of sandalwood, citrus and _Castiel_ is intoxicating Dean from the inside out, and Castiel finishes kissing his fingers just so he can guide Dean’s hand back to his throat, helping him apply pressure.

“Jerk us off and choke me ‘til I cum.”

Exhaling shortly, Dean switches so that the hand on Castiel’s thigh goes up to his throat, his other hand dropping between their bodies. It’s amazing that he can get it up for a third time in the span of just a couple of hours, but Castiel is showing Dean so many amazing things - making Dean _feel_ so many amazing things - that Dean is just along for the ride. Wrapping his fingers around both their slick cocks, the water doesn’t do much for slide but it does wonders for friction and they both pant out when Dean squeezes their lengths together. Eyes on Castiel’s face Dean squeezes his fingers around the man’s throat, testingly at first; he’s never really done this before, not seriously anyway, and when Castiel reaches up to grip his wrist and force him to apply more pressure, Dean groans. 

Castiel is… magnificent. Glorious. He’s everything a fallen angel should be, graceful and intangible and holding the significance of the cosmos in his gaze as he locks blue eyes with green, daring Dean to look away while his airflow gets cut off by Dean’s strong, capable hands. His lashes flutter but do not close, his lips parted, tongue running along the edges of his teeth as they grind together; Castiel’s hips roll and his fallen angel turns right back into an incubus, grinding his body into Dean’s, spine arching away from the tiled wall of the shower so he can give it a full-body undulation. Castiel moves his body like his bones are made of bowstrings, bending and flexing, each movement straining taut to release arousal in a _twang_ that shoots through Dean’s veins and numbs him before burning him. It’s a holy fire, one that does not scald so much as encompass, and Dean chases the feeling - squeezes Castiel’s cock and throat tighter, cutting off the airflow totally while trying to milk his release. Castiel's eyes are nebulae, so raw and full of energy as his dwindling air supply puts rings around Saturn.

Gazes still locked, Dean removes his cock from his hold so he can focus fully on Castiel’s, picking up his motions as he surges forward, claiming Castiel’s breathless lips in a kiss, tongue swiping into the man’s mouth, fingers giving an extra squeeze - Castiel’s body arches, ass and shoulders against the tile, spine curved prettily as he cums, cum hotter than the water dripping over their bodies as it spills over Dean’s hand. Releasing Castiel’s throat he’s rewarded with a deep gasp and Castiel dragging his hands from where they’d been planted on Dean’s shoulders, blunt nails leaving red welts behind, Castiel’s lips still parted like he can’t shut his mouth without working too hard. 

It takes a few moments for Castiel to catch his breath and when he finally snaps his jaw shut with an audible click of his teeth he grabs Dean’s hips, swinging him without preamble to switch their positions, manhandling Dean to press his chest up against the cool tiled wall. Immediately Dean shivers at the temperature contrast between the tile and the warm water, nipples hardening, palms pressing against the wall to ground himself. He sees Castiel drop to his knees out of the corner of his eye, feels Castiel’s hands knocking his knees apart, and then Castiel is groping Dean’s ass, letting out a low hum of approval.

Dean Winchester will never, ever deny a good rimjob. 

Castiel spreads his ass cheeks, thumbs pressing against Dean’s rim. It’s been quite a long time since Dean’s been played with like this, his knees trembling in response, his cheeks flushing all the way down his neck to his chest. Castiel leans forward to leave nipping, sharp bites over Dean’s firm cheeks, thumbs still teasing and stretching at Dean’s rim without actually accomplishing much other than making him weak in the knees. The shower head is angled so that the water is really only hitting Dean’s side and leg and not much else, keeping him warm against the tile, but the sensation of water trickling over his skin gets easily overshadowed by Castiel’s hot tongue as he licks a line from Dean’s balls up his crack to his rim, pressing a teasing, chaste kiss against it.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes out, reaching a hand behind him to tangle into Castiel’s hair. “Eat me.”

He doesn’t need to see Castiel’s face to imagine the absolutely _sinful_ smirk tugging at Castiel’s lips. Dean’s legs spread wider, balancing most of his weight on the balls of his feet so he can arch his back, and he knows he doesn’t look nearly as beautiful or as graceful as Castiel, but the man moans in appreciation all the same. Castiel rewards Dean’s position change by circling his tongue around Dean’s rim, flicking lightly at the flesh with just the tip of his tongue. It’s light and torturous, Dean’s fingers curling into a fist against the tile, teeth clenching, cock hanging heavy. After a few moments of barely-there licks Castiel finally pulls Dean’s ass cheeks apart so he can put his lips to his rim and _suck _. It’s wet and dirty and as he sucks his tongue presses in and oh, Dean makes a pretty wrecked noise but knows that Castiel bottles it up for later. Alternating between sucks, licks, and kisses Castiel adds his thumbs back into the mix, stretching Dean’s rim idly as he wets it, slicks it, tongue fucks it. The temperature of the water had started abating a few minutes ago but Dean is still hot all over, cracking an eye open to look over his shoulder and see Castiel nose-deep in his hole.__

__It takes monumental effort, but Dean removes his fingers from Castiel’s hair so he can grab his dick, jerking it lazily and at the snail pace that Castiel seems intent on setting. Dean had partook in Castiel’s ass like he’d been starving, but Castiel is eating Dean’s ass like it’s dessert at a five-star restaurant, wanting to savor every lick, bite, taste. Castiel pulls away to gasp in a breath, panting a few times before he moves back in, nibbling his way from Dean’s rim down to his sac, tonguing at his balls with solid, flat swipes of his tongue. Dean groans low in his throat and pants out encouragements, unsure of what he’s saying or if he’s even saying anything in English - not that he knows any other languages, but something about this _angel_ makes Dean speak in tongue, struck by his holy spirit._ _

__Dean’s orgasm is a slow build, much like the wake up blowjob, and when it crashes through him and he paints the wall with his cum he feels Castiel in every fiber of his being. Castiel’s tongue in his ass, his hands on his hips, his _soul_ winding its way through Dean’s core and settling heavy, pleasant. _ _

__Castiel stands and wraps his arms around Dean to keep the man from falling, which could be laughable if Dean weren’t so spent that he actually needs the extra help to stay upright. When Castiel turns Dean around to face him Dean meets him halfway for a lazy, explorative kiss, tasting himself on Castiel’s tongue. They both hum at the same time and pull away with twin sated smiles; Castiel reaches to turn off the tap and pull back the bee curtains, grabbing a fluffy towel from the rack and handing it to Dean. Dean takes it gratefully and watches Castiel step out of the shower and grab another towel, starting to dry himself by ruffling the fabric against his hair. The wings on his wet back shift, brilliant gossamer blue against midnight black, and Dean steps out of the tub to move right up against Castiel’s back, kissing across his shoulder blades._ _

__Castiel catches Dean’s eye in the mirror and arches an intrigued brow, which Dean meets with a small, playful smile._ _

__“Surely you’re running out of ways to keep me ensnared,” Dean murmurs, keeping their gazes connected even as he starts kissing up the column of Castiel’s neck. A challenge._ _

__The smile that unfurls on Castiel’s lips is slow, sinister and sadistic, as he reaches his arm up to card his fingers through Dean’s wet hair, spiking it up. The movement makes the runes on Castiel’s chest shift, the ancient languages spreading slightly wider over his ribs, and Dean’s eyes flicker to them momentarily, before his eyes snap up when Castiel speaks._ _

__“I guess this means it’s time to tie you up.”_ _

__Dean thinks he sees fangs in his own smile as he nips at Castiel’s ear, growling, “I’d like to see you try.”_ _

__Challenge accepted._ _

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are wonderful  
> my [twitter](http://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) is ok sometimes


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